


Fights

by howterrifying



Series: The Denial Mode Series [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlolly - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24019687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howterrifying/pseuds/howterrifying
Summary: Sometimes we push, sometimes we pull, but all that matters is where we end up falling.(written 30 April 2015)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Series: The Denial Mode Series [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732471
Kudos: 32





	Fights

**Author's Note:**

> The Denial Mode Series began in the midst of me struggling to get through my soap opera of a multi-chapter fic, The Admirer. In between, as a sort of refresher, and also as my way of ‘denying’ I had stuff to work on, I would call out for these prompts. The call was to either send me a single word or a single song. I received all sorts of lovely responses and these are the stories that developed from them. They mean a lot to me and I remember every single one of them from just looking at their titles. I hope you will enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them. :) x
> 
> ::
> 
> Anonymous asked: Elastic heart by Sia :)
> 
> I must thank you for this prompt, Nonny. I would never have thought up a story like that had I not been given this song to write to. I hope you’ll enjoy it, and that you can feel all the sentiments I’ve tried to capture from the song into the dynamics of the two fools human beings we know as Sherlock and Molly. :)   
> Rated T ;)

**Fights**

Desperate times called for desperate measures, which was why Molly Hooper found herself at the door of Baker Street, her finger poised uncertainly above the doorbell. She never rang it. It was Mrs Hudson who had let Molly in. She had been on her way out to Bingo when she quite literally collided into the pathologist.

“Is he in? I texted but…he didn’t reply. As usual,” she asked the landlady.   
“He’s been in all week, love,” Mrs Hudson answered. “No gunshots this time though, thankfully.”

The landlady patted Molly on the arm before setting off, leaving Molly to head up the narrow flight of stairs alone. At the top, she realised the door was open. With ears as sharp as his, Sherlock had probably heard their little conversation downstairs.

“I got your text,” he said, surprising her.

Sherlock was seated at his desk, scrolling at something on his laptop and did not bother to look up at her.

“Right, so…”  
“So…” he said, inhaling sharply as he shut his laptop, “I’ll take the case.”  
“This isn’t a _case_ , Sherlock,” said Molly with a small laugh.   
“What else is this then?” he asked, turning at last to look at her.   
“Fine. It’s a case.” she said, moving to sit in the armchair where ‘they all sat’.

Sherlock got up from behind his desk and moved to sit across from Molly. He leaned back and pressed his palms together in front of him. His eyes that rested on her were expressionless.

“So, tell me. When was the last time you saw it?”

—

Their argument had been at her flat, where he would stay from time to time. Molly could not remember what they had been fighting about, despite Sherlock pressing her for details. She assured the detective it had not been about about him, and that she and Tom were probably squabbling about some trivial matter, as had been the case for weeks.

“And then what happened?” the detective asked, trying his best to feign disinterest.   
“I don’t know — I shouted a bit, paced the room, I took it off—” she said, sighing, “My mind goes blank right after that.”  
“Does _he_ remember what you did with it?” asked the detective.   
“I’ve not spoken much to him since, but I doubt he’d remember.” said Molly, burying her head in her hands. “I just feel bad that…I’ve lost it, you know?”  
“No, I don’t know.” Sherlock answered, getting up suddenly. “Nevertheless, we’d better get a move on.”  
“Where to?” asked Molly, her head still in her hands.   
“Your flat.” he answered.

—

At Molly’s flat, the detective scanned the room and tried not to notice what remaining traces there were of Tom’s presence in her home. He cleared his throat and marched in, taking long strides, with his hands firmly clasped behind his back.

“If we’re going to find this… _ring_ , I need you to re-enact everything that happened.”  
“O-kay,” Molly said, obligingly. Desperate times called for such obliging behaviour.   
“I’ll be Tom,” he said, “Where should I stand?”

Molly led Sherlock to the doorway of her bedroom, positioning him exactly as she remembered.

“What are we fighting about?” the detective said, “We need to set the scene—”  
“I told you, I can’t remember…” Molly interrupted.   
“Fine, we’ll make something up,” Sherlock said.  
“What do you mean make it u—”

Sherlock stopped her and took her firmly by the shoulders.

“So, you still love him then?” he asked sternly.  
“I’m sorry? Who?”  
“ _Him_ …You still love him.” he asked, staring hard at her. Sherlock was no longer expressionless and his eyes shone with fury that Molly had not seen before.   
“I don’t love Tom, Sherlock,” she found herself saying, “I mean, look, we’re not even engaged anymo—”  
“Then why —” Sherlock could not continue, he dropped his hands from her shoulders and looked away.

Suddenly, he moved past her and sat himself on the edge of her bed. He looked up and out of the doorway that led into the living room. An idea struck him and he reached for his wallet to search for a coin. When he found one, he flung it as hard as he could out of the doorway and observed the distance the penny took before landing on the ground. He squinted to see where it had fallen and smirked to himself. Sherlock stood up and walked over to the fallen penny and noticed a rug just beside it. Crouching down, he peered under the rug, which was beneath the small side table in the living room, and rummaged under it.

“Ah.” he said, with a victory smile.

He got up and held the tiny hoop of metal and gems in his palm.

“Here you go. You’d thrown it. And it landed there.” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the rug.   
“Thank you,” said Molly, exhaling with relief as she took the ring from him.   
“Now that you’ve found it perhaps you can consider marrying him again,” he said with a smirk.

Their ‘case’ had been solved, so Sherlock gave her a little nod and turned to exit the flat. Molly reached out just then, stopping him by grabbing him by the elbow.

“I don’t love Tom, Sherlock,” she repeated, “I don’t think I ever have, to be honest.”  
“If you don’t, then why…” he tried to continue the question from earlier, but found that he still could not.   
“Why won’t I love _you_ instead?” she asked for him, moving to stand in front of the detective.   
“I didn’t say that.” he muttered.

Molly exhaled sharply, exasperated. She hastily pocketed the ring and in one fluid move stepped forward towards Sherlock and kissed him. Her arms were wrapped firmly around him when just then, to her surprise, he began to kiss her back, reciprocating the embrace. They stumbled to her bed, in a flurry of desperate arms and frantic kisses.

It was a strange thing for them both, as they struggled with what was happening. Sometimes, Molly would panic in realisation and pull away from him, but he would only follow her, taking her back with him. Other times, Sherlock would be the one to push her away, realising the foolish indulgence he was allowing himself, but she would draw him back with heated kisses. The constant push and pull gradually stopped as both hearts, and therefore bodies, relented, melting into unison.

Nobody knew what the time was when they woke. Molly sat up first, her hair falling all around her naked torso. She turned to Sherlock who looked up at her, his eyes soft and bright. He smiled gently as he slipped a bare arm around her waist and drew her back to bed.

“Are we in trouble?” he asked, unable to resist kissing her collarbone.   
“I don’t know,” Molly chuckled softly, “Maybe we should ask your brother.”  
“He might get a stroke,” smirked the detective.   
“I shouldn’t like that,” said Molly, “He’s a good man, your brother.”  
“And I? What am I?” he asked, looking up at her.

Molly smiled and ran her thumb delicately over his mouth, chuckling as he attempted to kiss it. She removed her hand and replaced it with her own mouth, kissing him slowly and softly.

“I lied,” she whispered, smiling against his lips.   
“About?” asked Sherlock, perplexed.   
“About not knowing what we were fighting about…” she said.  
“And?”  
“I do remember,” she continued, “And it was about you.”  
“And what about me?” he asked quietly.   
“It was about the fact that you and I are in love,” she replied, “He said he could see it in my eyes.”  
“Did he see it in my eyes?”  
“Of course,” she said, smiling, “He saw it there first.”

It was Sherlock’s turn to lean in to kiss her, moving from her lips down her jaw line before resting his head in the crook of her neck.

“Good,” was all the detective said, “I’m glad he saw it.”

The pair of them laughed quietly at the journey their affections had taken. Affections that had been buried, lost, and now found. Molly was just about to ask if Sherlock wanted any dinner when suddenly, something occurred to her and the smile fell from her face.

“Oh no,” she muttered, dropping her head in frustration against his chest.  
“What’s the matter?” he asked.  
“I lost the ring again… when we—” she sighed, annoyed.

The detective chuckled and wrapped his arms tightly around her. He kissed the top of her head and sighed in quiet satisfaction.

“Good,” he said, smirking against her hair. “Good.”

**END**


End file.
